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1 LizABETH Hooper Thompson 



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Bj? Elizabeth Hooper Thompson 



Press of 

Nlicholls Printing Company) 

Helena, Arkansas 



|3ebicati0n 



My Mother 

You went away and left me, 
And tlie sky turned gray. 
My life seemed dull and drab, 
Hope fled and joy was no more with me 

When you went far away. 

Oft, thro' the velvet dark of night, 

Or thro' the sunlit day 

My heart cries out for you. 

You lay your hand on mine and I can smile, 
Tho' you are far away. 

Some day, some radiant future day. 
We'll walk thro' all Eternity, 
Your tiny lovely hand in mine 
And then, and not till then can I forget 

That you're away. 



VERSES 



A PROTEST 

Oh, do not write it Xmas, 
Dear friends of you I pray — 
For Jesus Christ our Savior 
Was born on CHRISTMAS DAY. 

X — equal quantity unknown 
When problem we would prove 
And shall it be used to represent 
The name of the God of love? 

Are we like those men of Athens 
With superstition filled, 
Who built altars to a God Unknown 
And by Paul's words were thrilled? 

If aught is said against a king 
In countries 'cross the sea, 
The miscreant is guilty found — 
Of lese majesty. 

Yet in our own fair country 
Where dwell the true and brave 
This disrespect is shown our King 
Who gave his life to save. 
Then let us all make merry 
With hearty CHRISTMAS cheer 
And not forget the Gift of God 
From Bethlehem of Judea. 

So, do not write it Xmas, 
This boon, dear friends, I pray. 
For Jesus Christ our Savior 
Was born on CHRISTMAS DAY. 

- '^^^ ©C1A655091 



VERSES 



THE SOUTH 



1857 — Fair Princess 

The South is a maiden fair to see. 

Her bright hair wreathed in flowers. 

Her fairy sylvan bowers 

O'er which no cloud e'er lowers 

Are rife with minstrelsy . 

Magnolias' fragrance fills the air. 
While song of mocking bird 
Is in liquid sweetness heard, 
And all exclaim with one accord 

"Was ever land so fair?" 

Her life is like a radiant dream: 
Her pillared mansions rise 
Toward her blue, blue skies 
While in her merry, merry eyes 

The love of life's agleam. 

Oh, the South is a joyful maid; 

Knights of chivalry bow the knee 
When her fair face they see — 
And each one prays to be 

The first her heart to raid. 



1865 — Mater Dolorosa 

The South is a sorrowing mother: 
Her merry laughter's stilled , 
Her heart with anguish filled 
For the precious blood now spilled 

Oh, is there none to soothe her? 



VERSES 



She, like Rachel, for her children weeps: 

Her sons come not again, 

For on the battle plain 

Those noble ones lie slain 
While she sad vigil keeps. 

Crushed and broken, bruised and torn. 

Prone in the dust she lies. 

And in desolation cries; 

Can she ever, ever rise 
From such estate forlorn? 

Her stately homes in ruins lie, 
And that old regal life 
With ease and culture rife. 
And absence of all strife 

Has passed forever by. 

Oh, well may she weep and lament: 
The Southland once so grand 
Now a desolated land 
Forsaken and alone must stand 

With head in sorrow bent. 

Behold! now crushed she prostrate lies 
Go lift slowly her still form, 
She could not brook the storm 
Which raged and roared so long — 

Our South— our Southland DIES. 



1921— TRIUMPHANT QUEEN 
Who said the South was dead? 

Is she of weakling blood 

Who at the first dark cloud 

Or raging stormy flood 
Would lower her proud head? 

NO, for the blood of heroes brave 

Led by STONEWALL, GORDON, LEE, 

Who stemmed the awful sea 

Fast engulfing you and me, 
Flovv'S in Southern veins today. 



VERSES 



The South, on golden wing 

With eagle on mountain peak 

Her eaglets food now seeks 

And from her hopes dead ashes keeps 

Rising to higher things. 

Like thrush pierced by sharp thorn- 
She sings her sweetest song 
Her ruined homes among. 
Ihe night was dark and long- 
Now, behold, behold the dawn! 



MY VALENTINE 
(Mrs. Alice Bell, of Maine) 

I know you lo^ e the arbutus. 
But I have a magnolia for you — 
The message of each waxy white petal, 
"I love you, I love you too." 

Does the robin sing 'neath your window 
Awaken! my valentine ? 
Hark ! now the mockbird is trilling, 
"Be mine, be mine, be mine! 

The cold white snow on your hill side. 
Is ever your joy and pride. 

But the warm fleecy snow of our cotton fields 
Cries to you — "Abide! Abide!" 

One more gift I bring you — 
The bloom of the orange tree. 
Will you accept the magnolia, the mockbird, 
The orange blossom and me? 

If you will, we shall wander together 
Hand in hand 'neath the starry sky. 
As we whisper the old, old story, 

*'And let the rest of the world go by." 



VERSES 



TO MAY 

Are the mists and snows 
Of the wintry day, 
Too cold for the Rose 
That was born in May? 
Will her beauty depart 
And her radiance pale 
When pierced by dart 



Nay, fair flower 
You need have no fear. 
For the evil power 
Of the winter drear 
Was braved by the 
Sharon Rose so fair 
Which blomed in a 
Rarren manger tliere 
In an eastern land 
'Neath starry skies 
Sought by a band of 
Three men wise. 

Now everywhere 
The Sharon Rose 
Upon the air its 
Fragrance throws. 
So Rlossom near 
To this Wonder Rose 
And do not fear 
Cold winter snows 
Rut grow more fair 
From day to day 
As you blossom there 
My Rose of May. 

And the world will lay 
It's love at your feet, 
My Rose in bloom 
So passing sweet. 



VERSES 



LOUISE REEVES | 

"Louise passed away toda3% conscious and j 

unafraid." ! 

Conscious of His love was she ! 

And unafraid of gloom, ' 

Knowing He whom her soul believed j 

Had passed beyond the tomb. j 

She looked unto the hills for help j 

Across the Valley's shade; 1 

Serenely, then she entered in ; 

Conscious and unafraid. : 

Her eyes beheld the Master's face ! 

And then He smiled, i 

Reached forth His hand to clasp her own I 

And said, "My child." i 

The shadows fled before that look — 
From valley, hill and glade: 
Victorious over death she rose 
Conscious and unafraid. 



VIOLA 



I will not say goodbye. Dear Heart i 

But "Till we meet again" : 

In fairer land in brighter clime, j 

Upon a higher plane. i 

I will not say good-night. Beloved j 

For night is dark and drear, ) 

And when we meet, as we will meet i 

All things will be made clear. • ] 

Then, au revoir, dear friend of mine, j 

I await the dawning ! 

Of a blessed day when you'll i 

Bid me, "Good morning." i 



10 VERSES 



LOIS THOMPSON 

A flower in a garden grew 

For one short year; 
Sweet it was and brigiit of hue 

And passing dear. 

The Master Gardener walking there 

As shadows fell; 
Beheld the little blossom fair 

And said, "'Tis well, 

This flow'ret shall transplanted be 

To gardens rare, 
ril take it straightway Home with me 

For tenderer care." 

The little flower will bloom and glow 

And wax more fair; 
But the garden where the flower first grew. 

How desolate there! 



BACK DAR IN QAWQY 

Back dar in Gawgy whar I wuz bawn, 
Mongsi de red hills an' de j^aller cawn; 
De birds sings sweetes' 
An' de flowers bloom neates' 
De folks am kines' 
An' de waterinillions fines' 
Back dar in Gawgy, whar I wuz bawn. 

Back dar in Gawgy, whar 1 wuz bawn. 
Early on a Jinerwary mawn 

De skies am blues' 

An' hearts beat trues' 

De pine grows highes' 

An' de Lawd seem nighes' 
Back dar in Gawgy, whar I wuz bawn. 



VERSES 11 



DE MAWKIN' BIRD 

Ef yer wants ter heah some music, 

De sweetes' uver heard: 
Den come down Souf in Arkansaw. 

An' lis'en ter de mawkin' bird. 

Wen he wakes yer in de mawnin' 

Yer t'ink it er angel song: 
An' dat Peter done open de pe'rly gates. 

An' telKn' yer ter come erlong 

An' we'en yer tired at ebenin', 

An' lays yer down ter sleep: 
De mawkbird's singin' sof ly, 

"De Lawd yer soul'l keep. 

He sing down in de cotton patch, 

'Mong de cotton blossoms: 
He singin' 'bout dat fishin' line. 

An' 'bout dem coons an' possoms. 

He sing dere in de co'nfiel', 

'Mong de years ob corn: 
Hit's des de sweetes' music, 

Yer heahd sence yer been bawn 

He gits up on de house top. 

An look up ter de sky: 
An' sing erbout de fie'y cha'ut, 

Dat's comin' bimeby. 

He tells yer 'bout de manshuns, 

Dat's in de hebenly Ian': 
An' all erbout de streets ob gol' 

An' 'bout de angel ban.' 

So ef yer wan'some music, 

Fer yo' Gran' Operaw: 
Des come heah dat mawkin' bird, 

Down Souf in Arkansaw. 



12 VERSES 



FORE MOTHERS 

The Mayflower landed on our shores. 
Three hundred years ago, 
And to the Pilgrim Fathers 
Thanksgiving Day we owe. 

But why to Pilgrim Fathers 
Is given all the praise? 
Were there no Pilgrim Mothers 
In those old historic days? 

Oh yes, there were fore mothers. 
But they did not make the laws — 
They were busy working 
In a much more strenuous cause. 

For while the Pilgrim Fathers 
Were hastening to the polls. 
The industrious Pilgrim Mothers 
W^ere making hop yeast rolls. 

And as the Pilgrim Fathers 
Were wielding saw and ax. 
The busy Pilgrim Mothers 
Were spinning hemp and flax. 

Behold! these selfsame fathers 
Digging wells and ditches, 
Then see, at home, the mothers 
Making fathers' breeches. 

And as our honored fathers 
In council looked so wise. 
Our good and thrifty mothers 
Were baking pumpkin pies. 

When the stealthy Indian called 
'Stead of filling him with shot. 
She filled him up with turkey 
Nicely browned and piping hot. 



VERSES 13 



So you see she used diplomacy 
Where 'er she played a part, 
Knowing the slogan — ever the same — 
"Through the pantry to man's heart." 

Then, while to Pilgrim Fathers, 
Their meed of praise v/e give, 
A tiger and three for the Mothers 
Long may their memory live. 



THE SIQN OF THE CROSS 

This is the land of the brave and free, 
Yet we bow to royalty. 
To a queen of wondrous charm. 
And — a Red Cross on her arm. 

In the wake of shot and shell. 
To the very mouth of Hell, 
Ling'ring near the fallen brave. 
Snatching them from out the grave — ■ 
Steadfast mid wild war's alarm; 
She — with the Red Gross on her arm 

Hers to bind where others break. 
Herself she gives for other's sake. 
From gaping wound she does not shrink 
Nor yet from standing on Hell's brink 
Her cheer, e'en death cannot disarm — 
She — with the Red Cross on her arm. 

"Comfort 3^e, comfort ye my people!" saith the 

Lord. 
And then SHE comes 
Followering swift the vandal horde. 
Through the fire of shell and bomb. 
Serene and unafraid and calm. 
She — with the Red Cross on her arm. 



14 VERSES 



RUDYARD KIPLINQ 

A La Fuzzy Wuzzy 

We've studied many books from 'crost the seas. 

An' some of 'em was good an' some was not, 

Goethe, Dante, Brownmg, all did please. 

But the Kipling was the finest of the lot: 

We never got the "Weai-y Wills of 'im 

'E jumped from out the "Barracks an' 

'knocked us senseless; 

'E rapped our brains with that ere "Kim", 

An' with 'is "Soldiers Three' 'e tuk our trenches. 

So 'ere's TO you, Rudyard Kipling an' more 

stories from your ban' 

You're a darned ol' Johnny Bullock, but a first 

class writin' man; 

We gives you our bendorsement an' if you do not 

mind. 

We'd like to read more books of yours whenever 

you're inclined. 

We tuk our chanst among the Ibsen ills. 

The Strindberg knocked us silly at a mile. 

The Bjornsen gave us Scandinavian chills 

An' the poet Tagore dished us up in style; 

But all we got from such as they. 

Was pop to what the Kipling made us swaller 

We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say. 

But brain for brain the Kipling knocked us 'oiler. 

Then 'ere's TO you, Rudyard Kipling an' your light 

that never failed; 

Our orders was to read 3^ou, an' right into you 

we sailed. 

We turned loose on you our critics, w'ich was 

'ardly fair to you. 

But spite of such close quarters. Ruddy Kip, 

your steel rung true. 



VERSES 15 



'E 'as plenty papers of 'is own, 

'E 'as all kinds of medals an' rewards, 

So we 'ereby certify the skill 'e's shown 

In provin' pens is mightier than swords; 

When 'e's oppin' in an' out of "Phantom 

Rickshows," 

An' beatin' on the drums of "Fore an' Aft," 

A 'appy day with Kip 'neath the "Deodars," 

Will almost drive a 'ealthy reader daft. 

So 'ere's TO you, Rudyard Kipling an' your frien's 

a many score. 

The time we spent areadin' you we never will 

deplore. 

But write an' read's the gospel an' we'll call the 

bargain fair 

For if you'll write as much as we can read. 

You've crumpled up the square. 

'E rushes at the ink, then 'e lets drive. 

An' before we know 'e's 'ackin' at our 'earts, 

'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive. 

An' vvhen 'e's dead 'e only acts a part. 

'E's a writer 'e's a fighter 'e's a rip, 

'E's the only Kipling on the job 

'E's the only one who doesn't care a flip. 

For all the critics in the mob. 

So 'ere's TO you Rudyard Kipling at your 'ome in 
other lan's 

You're a traveler, a palaverer, an' a first class 
writin' man; 

An' 'ere's TO you, Rudyard Kipling, all the kind- 
ness of the fates 

For at the point of vour wizard pen — you tuk 
th' UNITED STATES. 



16 VERSES 



WHO KNOWS? 

"The tossing waves dashed high. 
On a stern and rock-bound coast." 

The luscious grapes hung high 

Upon the New World coast, 
And the trees against a starry sky 

Their bright green branches tost. 

The soft dews lightly touched 

The verdant landscape o'er. 
When a band of wand'rers reached 

The fair New England shore. 

There were men with whit'ning hair 

Amidst that daring band: 
Why had they come to linger far 

From their Norwegian land? 

They sought for gold from out the mine 
And for jewels rich and rare, 

They came to seek the red, red wine 
And breathe the fragrant air. 

For on their own cold Arctic shore, 

No vegetation grew. 
They left the land of ancient lore 

And came to seek the new. 

And some of them from justice fled 

And sought a haven here, 
Each with a price upon his head 

To this fair land drew near. 

Here for a time they made their home 

To them a sunny clime 
W^ho came from haunt of elf and gnome- 

From frost and snow and rime. 



VERSES 17 



Shakespeare his own plays did not write. 
To Bacon? belongs the fame. 

So why put up a gallant fight? 
There's nothing in a name. 

Not Columbia the gem of the ocean — 

Norwegia let her be called, 
Where did we e'er get such a notion? 

This is the land of the Skald. 

Lucky Lief called this Wineland — 

Oh, weep for Genoa's loss; 
For our American vineland 

Was discovered by the NORSE. 



THE DAY BREAKS 

The long, long night is gone 
From over land and sea — 
The night of cold and gloom 
When His face we could not see. 

The Prince of darkness ruled 
And shrieked in fiendish glee. 
At the blackness of the pall 
That shadowed you and me. 

Far in the eastern sky 

The Day Star shed its light. 

The Imps of darkness trembled then 

And fled in great affright. 

The Black Prince seemed to feel 
That he, too, must beware — 
He, trembling, also, turned about 
And hastened to his lair. 

For swift behind the Star 
Such light and joy He brings — 
The Sun of Righteousness appears 
Witli healing in His wings. 



18 VERSES 



"23'' FOR MAN 

Man is said to have twenty-four ribs, 

But tluit must be a mistake — 
Since one was taken away from his NIBS 

His helpmate to create. 

So it's ''23'* for you, oh man. 

Now do not tell a fib 
For he can also read who ran — 

You lost that other rib. 

While slumberinLj and sleepini^ there 

'Twas taken from your side 
And made mlo a wonum fan- 

To be your joy and pride. 

But you must search for what you lost 
And true reward must offer. 

Go forth as Knight who counis Ihe cost 
And has true love to proffer. 

List not to bards who prate to thee 

Of affinity and soulmate 
Your ribs are still but "XV^ — 

Go, gel the twenty-fourth, mate. 

And when you find your other rib 
Wandering round without you, 

Put up a petition glib 

Lest that rib should doubt you. 

There may be more fish in the sea 
More birds upon the wing — 

But while your ribs are "23" 
That other rib\s the thing. 

Take her like the Knights of old 

Nor from dangers flee, 
If she should seem a trifle cold 

Remember "23." 



VERSES 19 



Then your reunited ribs 

Will number twenty-four — 

But remember this , your NIBS 
The one is worth a score. 

And thus the stigma "23" 
Is taken from your number 

And you've regained the rib, you see 
Which was lost in slumber. 



LULLABY 

Hush thee, little Mocking Bird, 
Lie thou still and slumber — 
The dream man is bringing thee 
Sweet dreams without number. 

Straight adown the milky way 
Coming from the moon, 
Riding on the Dog Star, 
He will be here soon. 

Dreams of fair sky children 
In the land of mist. 
Smiled upon by planets 
And by moonbeams kissed. 

Their kites are made of comets, 
They play with the Great Bear, 
And step about from star to star 
As on a silver stair. 

They drink dewdrops from the Dipper- 
Their swing is the rainbow. 
They ride in cloudy carriages 
Drawn by Taurus and Leo. 

Go with them, little Mocking Bird, 
In the sky to play. 
But come back to Mother, dear. 
At the dawn of day. 



20 VERSES 



THE LAY OF THE CAVE MAN 

What! call this the strenuous ag|e 
This of the twentieth century? 

These are the days of ease, 

Of freedom from care; of luxury. 

We ride in our fast limousines, 

In steamships and airships go sailing; 

What do we know of hard times — 
Why at the Trusts are we railing? 

Lo and behold the cave man! 

He of the primeval ages. 
Of his wondertul feats 

One might wrile pages and pages. 

But for him no written word 

Of warrior's brave deeds lo fire him; 

No fife, no drum, no glittering sword. 
No minstrels' lay to inspire him. 

He was the pioneer hero; 

With terrors unknown he struggled. 
In the wild forest, alone, 

With the Icthyosaurus he juggled. 

Mastodon, Dinosaur, Pterodactyl 

There in his i)athwa3' to rave, 
All were stampeded at once 

By this redoubtable man of the cave. 

E'en in affairs of the heart. 
He, forsooth, must use force; 

Then, if he made a mistake. 
Could not resort to divorce. 

Seeing a maiden whose fair face 

His rough heart had moved, 
He did not fall on his knees. 

With "The only girl I ever loved." 



VERSES 21 



No, he knew naught of such wiles — 
On his club he took a firm grasp — 

WHACK! he came down on her head 
And she fell at his feet with a gasp. 

She, having recovered her poise, 

Said, "Since you have bruised up my head, dear. 
From now till the end of our days 

You must provide me with headgear." 
(To say nothing of other gear.) 

Oh, the poor, poor cave man! 

Ask him about the cost of living, 
And if he could answer today 

Many pointers to us he'd be giving. 

The first with world problems to grapple 

All honor to this hero brave, 
Who hewed out a path as he went 

This redoubtable man of the cave. 



THE POET 

Mother, I read in my lesson today 

The song of the poet, sweet as the May; 
Mother, what is a poet? 

A poet, my dear, is a child of dreams. 

Born of purling brooks and silvery streams; 

A touch of fire from the sun's bright ray, 

A dash of foam from the salt sea spray, 

An icy blast from Arctic snows, 

A drop of dew from the heart of a rose. 

An eye for the grace of the waterfall. 

An ear attuned to the mock-bird's call 

A breath of hazy November air, 

A bit of the pathos of Spring so fair. 

Scorn and anger for those who oppress. 

Pity and love toward all in distress, 



22 VERSES 



Tears for all mankind who weep, 
Smiles for a little child asleep. 

Sea and sky and earth and air. 
All commingled together there, 
Love and hate and scorn and tears- 
Faith, triumphant over fears. 
This, m3^ child, is a poet. 



MAMMY'S CHILE 

Lay his li'l haid down ter res.' 
Mammy's chile. Mammy's chile — 

On his ol' black Mammy's breas' 
Mammy's honey chile. 

Now meh li'l lam', go ter sleep. 
Mammy's chile. Mammy's chile — 

Pray de Lawd his soul ter keep, 
Mammy's preshus chile. 

Ef he die beio' he wake. 

Mammy's chile. Mammy's chile — 
Pray de Lawd his soul ter take. 

Mammy's darlin' chile. 

Honey close dem pu'ty eyes. 

Mammy's chile. Mammy's chile — 

Kase dem angels in de skies, 
Watchin' Mammy's chile. 

Bressed Jesus on de throne. 
Take keer Mammy's chile — 

Nuvver leab dis lam' erlone. 
Mammy's preshus chile. 

INIammy's chi-i-i-i-ile 
Mammy's chile. Mammy's chile- 
Mammy's chi-i-i-i-le, 
Mammj^'s honey chile. 



VERSES 23 



THE AMERICAN LEGION 

Stygian darkness from pole to pole, 
Horrors that stir the depths of man's soul; 
The war god waves his black mailed hand, 
And a pall settles slowly o'er the fairest land; 
Night has come. 

From a thousand campfires gleaming bright. 
There flashes swift the signal light; 
One by one bright sparks galore. 
Until there stretches from shore to shore 
A pillar of fire. 

Now ARMAGEDDON is put to rout, 
And through the gloom the stars shine out; 
Then rosy blushes of the morn 
Herald a newer, brighter dawn, 
Aiid Day returns. 

From ocean to ocean, from Gulf to Lakes, 
A misty cloud its slow way takes. 
It leads the hosts so swift and sure 
From many ills to certain cure: 
A pillar of cloud. 

A pillar of fire in darkest night, 
A pillar of cloud when day shines bright, 
A bulwark of strength in times of stress, 
A protection to all in vile duress: 

THEIR NAME IS LEGION. 



24 VERSES 



HARD TIMES 

Times is er gittin' hard, 

Ise gwine buy me er bucket er lard. 

Bucket er lard it cos'er dollar. 

An' dat's whut makes dis nigger holler. 

How kin I git me er piece er meat? 
Don' see howmeh folks gwine eat. 

Fust dar's me an' Lizy Mary, 
Den deni Iwinses, Jim an' Sary, 

Bill an' Jake an' Emmerline, 
Spence an' Schoon an' Clementine. 

Dey ebery one mus' hab er bite. 

An' de Bosses' chickens roos' high at night. 

But I gotter git one ef dey is so high, 

Dey ain't so high es de meat yer hatter buy 

Don' guess I'll git in jail, but den I mout. 
Well, ef I does, de Boss'l git me out. 

An', so es times is er gittin' so hard, 

I'll des git er pig ter mek me some lard. 

Whut's dat? Cos' dis nigger won't steal, 
I des wants er nough fer one square meal. 

(White follcs is so 'spicious.) 



VERSES 25 



HA'NTS 

De bigges' ha'nt I uvver see, 
Uz in dat o' mulbe'y tree — 
Jerus'lum gee-mun-ee-e-e-e 
De bigges' ha'nt I uvver see. 

Mammy, she say dey ain't no ha'nts, 
But w'en I goes out on one er my j'ants, 
Sump'n in dat tree des rips en rants — 
But Mammy, she say dey ain' no ha'nts. 

One time w'en Ise gwine erlong 
By de fence dar, singin' er song, 
Sump'n flew up en' hit me PONG — 
En Ise jus' gwine erlong. 

Den I run fas'er en fas'er 

En we'en I gits home at las' 

Mammy say 'tain' nothin' but her ol' bas' 

Dat she hung out dere las'. 

Night ter git it good en dry 
Den I try en try 

Ter think 'tain' er ha'nt en bimeby 
I goes back ergin. 

En dat thing got up en 'gun ter dance 
En hop erroun' en skip en prance 
En try ter ketch arhol' er my pants — 
Don' tell me dey ain't no ha'nts. 

(I'se seed 'em.) 



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